


I'm just as fucked up as they say

by aphrodite_mine



Category: Bunheads
Genre: Eating Disorders, Episode Tag, F/F, Failure cake, Food Issues, Food Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-11
Updated: 2012-07-11
Packaged: 2017-11-09 19:34:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphrodite_mine/pseuds/aphrodite_mine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1x4 episode tag. Sasha and Boo get some failure cake and it doesn't sit as well as Sasha would like. Please see notes for detailed content notes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm just as fucked up as they say

**Author's Note:**

> While eating disorders (such as anorexia nervosa and bulimia) have not been expressly addressed on the show, disordered eating and dieting have. All of these are common in the dancing community, and considering the body issue plotlines we have so far, it would not surprise me if a more explicit handling is around the corner.
> 
> That said, this story contains   
> \- references to Boo's dieting  
> \- references to Sasha being bulimic or perhaps a recovering bulimic, and metaphoric references to vomiting
> 
> This story ALSO contains a semi-sexual encounter (though I would argue that the root here is NOT sexual because the primary objective is power, etc, etc, authorial intent, blather) between underage girls where consent is not obtained nor sought out. It is not addressed within the story whether or not consent would have been given, and because of this I have marked the story as non-con. There is no rape in this story.

It's definitely local chocolate. Nothing fine or exotic or even extravagant here, and yet Sasha gently arches her back (feeling the tug as her hair stays simultaneously attached to the brush in Boo's hand and to her head) to reach for the knife to cut herself another piece of failure cake. It's a small piece, but already she knows her stomach won't be pleased.

Which isn't to say that the cake isn't delicious. 

Sasha swipes the damn exclamation point off of her piece and sucks it from her finger, moaning quietly when Boo hits a knot. 

"Oh," she cries out, immediately dropping the brush and shoving at Sasha's shoulders. Boo holds her hands up at gunpoint: innocent. "Did I hurt you? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

A corner of Sasha's mouth lifts, and she takes advantage of the freedom and rocks around to face her friend. 

Her friend? Her friend. 

"Of course not. Don't be an idiot."

Boo's eyes narrow. "I'm not." She sucks in a breath and shoots it out of her. Her eyelids drop, half-mast. She's salivating, watching Sasha's fingers work on tiny swipes of icing. "How is the cake?"

A full smile this time. Sasha takes her square of probably box mix cake and cracks it in two. "See for yourself." She wafts the cake in a sweeping motion across Boo's vision, under her nose, across her lips (brushing, just so, with a flourish, with her index finger against wet flesh), under her chin. The cake is moist and the frosting is sticking to Sasha's fingers. The Vanna White of Just Desserts.

Boo wrinkles her nose and leans back. "Ugh, no thanks."

Sasha grabs at a corner of the piece she's saved for herself -- one handed, sloppy, messy against her mouth -- and chews open-mouthed. "But you're the one who needs the luck, silly!" She regrets it immediately. The almost imperceptible drop in Boo's shoulders, the set of her mouth, her jaw. _Fuck_. "I mean," (she backpedals, tries to) "It's _your_ cake, isn't it?"

"I already ate, Sasha," Boo says, and now she just sounds tired. She turns away and Sasha drops her cake-laden hand away from Boo's face. The cake feels heavy and thick and sticky, and suddenly Sasha feels incredibly _far too_ full of sweetness. She shouldn't have come here.

Friends.

 _Fuck_ friends.

"You ate, what? A broccoli tree? You can't possibly think that will sustain you." Sasha's lip twitches. It spills out of her, keeps coming up. "You know what happens when dancers don't eat? They don't dance. And dancers who don't dance aren't dancers and what _the fuck_ are you then?" Fuck _everything_ , really, because Sasha's still holding the cake in her hand and she might be crying, but _whatever_ , and Boo might be kneeling in front of her, her face completely changed, her eyes wide. 

Both of her hands cup Sasha's shoulders and if Sasha closes her eyes she doesn't feel quite so much like her insides are going to split and reform. 

"You really want me to have some of that cake, huh?" Boo asks, and her right hand moves from Sasha's shoulder to press a warm thumb in convex arcs along Sasha's eyelashes. First the right, then the left, then settling on her cheek. Sasha swallows. 

It's easier, then, to push forward, her stupid hand and the stupid cake between them, to push closer, to push her mouth against Boo's, to push past the surprised _oh!_ she makes, to push and push until the grains of sugar on her lips imprint on Boo's, until they tip and the world spins sideways and a deft movement and a gasp leaves them horizontal on Boo's bedroom floor, legs splayed. 

"You aren't very nice," Boo gasps out, her jaw working against the cake smeared there by the hand Sasha doesn't have tangled in her hair. 

Sasha wishes she could manage a smile. Maybe just a tug of her lips. "You seem to be the only one who hasn't figured that out."


End file.
